


Baby's Breath

by Basingstoke



Series: Sestina [4]
Category: Homicide: Life on the Street, due South
Genre: Crossover, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-06-09
Updated: 2001-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to Jacquez, Cara Chapel, Mama Deb and Anne for beta duties at various times in the writing process.  This one took some help.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Baby's Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jacquez, Cara Chapel, Mama Deb and Anne for beta duties at various times in the writing process. This one took some help.

Ray had a firm hold on one of Bayliss' arms and Fraser had the other. Bayliss wove in between them. All three were looking damn fine in their good suits, though naturally Fraser looked best. Ray thought it was a good thing Fraser wasn't wearing a tux...Ray might not have been so patient with this whole party thing.

"Heart of Glass" started pounding over the speakers. "Who the heck plays disco these days?" Ray asked the air.

"Ray Vecchio's wedding reception DJ, apparently," Fraser said, and shook his head. "I have the most extraordinary sense of deja vu."

"Pinch your earlobe and you'll get over it." Fraser nodded and obeyed.

"Ray! Tim!" Frannie appeared at Ray's side and grabbed his free arm. "We need you guys to dance with us." Elaine elbowed through the crowd behind Frannie and smiled at Ray.

"Okay," Bayliss said, lurching backwards. Ray and Fraser held on.

"No way, Frannie--we're taking Bayliss home. He's a little under the weather."

"Am not," Bayliss said, leaning on Ray and smiling at Frannie. He was drunk enough to slur his words. Ray wasn't sure he could stand up by himself.

"Come on! You two are like the only guys in here who can dance."

"We can't disappoint the ladies, partner," Bayliss said, still smiling foolishly at Frannie.

"We can too." Ray started marching Bayliss forward again.

"Raaaaaaaaaaaay!" Frannie sounded like a Siamese cat. Ray winced and kept marching.

"Come on, I'll dance with you," Elaine said, and the women disappeared back into the crowd. Ray aimed for the front door and the promise of fresh air. With a little elbow work and perseverance, they made it outside.

Ray looked over at Fraser. "You can stop pinching your ear."

"Oh! Right you are." Fraser let go. "You were right, Ray. It did indeed cure the deja vu."

"Uh huh." Ray looked at Bayliss. "Where's your car?" The lot and streets were packed solid. Vecchio and Stella were a popular couple.

Bayliss blinked at him, looking a lot like a basset hound. "I have so few joys in my life," he said, "and you would deny me the simple pleasure of dancing with an attractive woman?"

"Yeah, I would." Ray started feeling Bayliss' pockets. "Fraser, can you see his car?"

"I will endeavor to locate it." Fraser hopped up on the stone wall surrounding the front porch of the reception hall.

Bayliss leaned a little closer to Ray. "This isn't some kind of kinky sex thing, is it?" he breathed, smelling like wine and lots of it. "Because I gave that up. Gave it up. Coffins and all." He nodded, looking earnestly into Ray's face.

Coffins? He did indeed say coffins. Heh. "This isn't a kinky sex thing," Ray said. "This is a taking you home 'cause you're drunk thing."

"It's not that you're not attractive." Bayliss sounded deeply thoughtful, as if he were spouting philosophy. "Because you are. It's just that it's not...a good idea...to get involved with your partner."

Ray kept searching Bayliss' jacket pockets for the keys, trying to keep from answering. No, it's only a good idea if your partner is Fraser. No, it's not a good idea when your partner is committed, pretty much married--and that was a whole other set of thoughts right there. He wondered what Fraser would say if Ray gave him a ring. He looked over at Fraser.

Fraser was surveying the parking lot with a collapsible telescope. "Fraser, where in God's name did you get that from?"

"I find it pays to be prepared, Ray. Aha!" Fraser collapsed the telescope and put it in his pocket. "I found the car." He hopped down from the stone wall.

"Okay, now help me find his keys. Dolphinboy here isn't cooperating." Ray poked at Bayliss' pants pockets tentatively. The keys were in the right front pocket. "Never mind. Got 'em."

Ray grabbed the keys. "It's really not fair of you to come on to me, Ray," Bayliss said sadly. "I might give in."

"Oh yeah?" Ray took Bayliss' elbow again and steered him toward the car.

* * *

Dief followed Ante's wagging tail through the crowd of humans. Noisy! But lots of good smells. Lots of food around. And Fraser wasn't in sight, so he was free of the worry of looking after his packmate. Ray would look after him instead.

Ante barked and danced beneath a table. Dief ran over to see what she was seeing--mmm, the food on the table smelled good. Ante smelled like a human, like Frannie--for some reason all the females south of the border smelled like humans. Maybe it was their hygiene. Anyway, Ante was a very pretty bitch, though kind of stupid, and Dief liked her a lot. Fraser even called it love. Silly guy. Dief was a bachelor wolf with a bitch on every corner.

Ante danced and barked, indicating a chair that she wasn't large enough to reach. Dief nosed up to the chair and found, to his delight, that there was an entire plate of treats left unguarded. He tugged the plate down from the chair and began to eat, but then he caught a scent of Ante's dog scent under her human coating.

And, well, he _did_ like her.

He stopped and nosed the food over to Ante, who ate it, her tail wagging. Dief lay down and licked her cheek. She licked his forehead and barked cheerfully.

* * *

Frannie looked around. "Hey, did you see my plate? I left it right here." Elaine shook her head. She was bobbing to the music while munching on carrot sticks and dip.

"Shoot." Frannie got another plate and started picking up egg rolls and cut veggies.

"Frannie, don't say 'shoot' in the middle of a room full of cops." Elaine elbowed Frannie in the ribs.

"Hardy ha ha." Frannie made a face. "It's not like you're really packing heat."

"Yeah, actually, I am, and I bet every cop here except your brother is." Elaine patted her belt.

"At a _wedding_? Come on, can't you leave them off even for a _wedding?_"

Elaine shook her head.

"How can you live like that?"

Elaine shrugged. "It's part of being a cop. We always have our eyes open for crime. Wearing a gun and a phone means that we can always deal with what comes up."

Frannie played with some broccoli. "But how can you always be worried about everything that's going on? I mean, you never get a break, you're always _on._"

Elaine pointed with her carrot stick at Frannie's stomach. "You're going to be a mother. You think that's any different?"

Frannie touched her belly and didn't say anything.

* * *

"Mike Giardello has really beautiful eyes," Bayliss said dreamily. "So does Ray Vecchio."

Ray frowned. "Which one is Mike Giardello?" There were dozens of Vecchio cousins at the reception, maybe hundreds, and they weren't all named Vecchio. There was even a pack of Knudsens that drove down from Madison.

"The African-American policeman from Baltimore," Fraser said. He cocked his head. "Although I suppose that would be Italian-African-American, or possibly Afro-Italian-American."

"American African Italian," Bayliss parroted.

Ray hit the brakes a little too hard at the stop sign and glared into the back seat. "You know, you're a really annoying drunk, Bayliss!"

Bayliss blinked at him with his basset hound eyes. "Sorry, Ray."

"They do both have striking eyes," Fraser said.

"Big, beautiful eyes," Bayliss agreed.

"You are not supposed to ogle the groom at his own wedding. It's just not done." Ray calculated the number of blocks until he could get his lunatic partner out of the back seat and his other lunatic partner back home.

Bayliss slid further down in the seat. "I guess not...you can arrest him, though, if he's a criminal."

"Three blocks!" Ray shouted.

* * *

Ray returned with a plate of veggies and dip for Stella and some punch for his mother. He found them sitting close together, Stella's folding chair close by Ma's wheelchair, his mother clutching Stella's hands. Ma looked up when Ray drew closer.

"Stella tells me you haven't gotten an ironing board for the new apartment yet. How is she supposed to keep your shirts pressed without an ironing board?" Stella looked up at Ray, asking for help with her eyes.

"Ma! We have a laundry service for that. Stella isn't going to _do _any ironing." He sat down and gave Stella her food and Ma her punch.

Ma glowered. "And if there's an emergency?"

"Then I'll do it. On the bed. I've done it before!"

Ma scoffed. "But you didn't do it _right_." She patted Ray's knee. "You're a boy. Boys aren't meant to iron."

"Fraser irons."

"Fraser is a Canadian. You're no Canadian! You shouldn't be ironing." Ma sipped her punch, frowning at Ray. "Now promise me you'll buy an ironing board."

Ray sighed. "Yes, Ma. We will, Ma. Whatever you say, Ma." He leaned back in his chair and Stella slipped her hand into his. He squeezed gently and felt the ring newly placed on her finger.

* * *

Ray dumped Bayliss onto the bed. "Night, Ray," Bayliss mumbled.

Bayliss' cat jumped up, sniffed at his face and sneezed. "You and me both, sister," Ray said, and left the bedroom.

Fraser was in the kitchenette washing dishes. "Fraser!"

"Yes, Ray?"

"I can't take you anywhere."

Fraser blinked at him. He and Bayliss _both_ did that eye thing, only Fraser's were a step up from basset hound. Bambi eyes, maybe. "I have always fancied myself eminently portable, Ray," Fraser said.

"Do not wash his dishes, Fraser."

"Why not?"

"You'll get prune hands."

"Personal vanity is no reason not to perform charitable works." Fraser started rinsing the dishes.

"You are not feeding starving children here! You are washing up after a guy who doesn't care enough to wash up after himself!"

"Yes, I suppose I am." Fraser set the clean dishes in the drainer and dried his hands. "Shall we be off?"

Ray stared at the clean dishes, realizing he'd been foxed. "Okay. Home."

Fraser picked up his watch and re-fastened it around his wrist. "Oh no, Ray, back to the party."

"Why? Forget something?" Ray had his keys and his suit jacket, and they could take a cab back to get the car.

"We forgot to say a proper goodbye."

Ray waved his hands at Fraser in surrender. "Okay. Okay! Call us a cab while I figure out how to lock Bayliss' door without his key."

The things he did for love. It was crazy. He _hated _parties--and yet, he kept going to them. Why? Because Fraser was there. Saw the guy every day and he was still nutty for him.

"You owe me big," Ray growled at Fraser.

"Understood," Fraser said as he dialed the phone.

* * *

"Heart of Glass" had segued into "Kung Fu Fighting," which had left some of the more enthusiastic dancers sprawled on the floor after attempting kung fu kicks they probably shouldn't have. The DJ had switched over to some sticky love ballads to give people a chance to recover. The floor was covered with couples you couldn't get a credit card between.

Francesca and Elaine were hanging out by the punch bowl checking out the Vecchio cousins.

"Nice ass on him," Elaine said.

Frannie looked and immediately covered her eyes. "Aah, he's a first cousin! That's Nicky, Aunt Marla's kid, up from Florida."

"Who's that?"

Frannie opened her eyes to see where Elaine was pointing. "Oh, that's Wicky. He works with Fraser." He was in a black turtleneck and trouser with a tweed jacket, doing a sort of robotic dance that had nothing to do with the music playing.

"_Wicky?_"

"Constable Warwick Aloysius Trudeau. The third." Frannie shook her head. "How do you look down at a cute little baby and say 'let's call him Aloysius'?"

Elaine laughed. "I guess if that's your name, you do it to get even. So...it's Fraser and him now? Is Turnbull still there?"

"No. He went back up to Canada to be a politician." Frannie made a face. "Boys."

Elaine grinned and looked around. "Interesting crowd. Are there actually any of Stella's relatives here?"

Frannie pointed. "Mostly over by the bar. It's just her grandma and her aunt and a brother. Her parents are dead and I guess her cousins couldn't make it." She shrugged and started giggling. "Her brother got in a fight with Ray at dinner last night! He said he thought the Buick Riviera was the ugliest car he'd ever seen, and Ray offered to take it outside."

"Oh no!"

"But you know what her brother drives?" Frannie said, leaning in close.

Elaine leaned in closer. "What?"

"A Honda Civic," Frannie confided, and collapsed into giggles on Elaine's arm, one hand over her rounded belly.

* * *

"I think half the Italians in Illinois are here, Fraser." Ray was looking rather worn around the eyes and his hair was beginning to go limp, which meant that he was quite at the end of his patience.

Fraser found the crowd both stifling and stimulating. He found the web of family allegiances and quarrels fascinating and baffling, and the ebb and flow of conversation was a subject worthy of study all to itself. On the other hand, the sheer volume of people in the reception hall was astounding. "Given that 741,824 people reported Italian ancestry in the 1990 census, Ray, I hardly think that's likely."

"How do you know all this stuff? No, never mind, I don't wanna know." Ray wove through the crowd and Fraser followed.

"Hey, Ray!" Fraser recognized the shouting man as Stella's brother Daniel.

Ray waved. "Hey, Danny. Where's Kathy?"

Daniel was a slender man of middle height, with glasses and close-cropped hair and a variety of small fight scars on his hands and face. He was, Fraser believed, an accountant of some sort. "At home," Daniel said. "Ready to pop, so she can't fly. I didn't expect to see you here."

Ray shrugged. "Me and Stella stayed friendly and I'm a pal of the best man here." He indicated Fraser. "Ready to pop? Kid number four?"

Daniel nodded to Fraser. He had given Stella away, so he and Fraser had already met. "Yeah, number four. I'm hoping for another girl. Two boys is enough for us." Daniel leaned forward. "So, Ray...you still got that Mustang?"

"Nah, it got cracked up when I was still in Narcotics. I got an even better car now." Ray grinned.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! 1967 GTO."

"All right!" Daniel held out his hand and Ray slapped it in what Fraser believed was a High Five. "You're lucky you and Stella never had kids, Ray. We've got a minivan and a Civic back home." He punched Ray in the shoulder and headed back to the rest of his family.

Ray looked at Fraser, the smile fading from his face. "You know, I'd rather have the kid than the car."

Fraser slid his hand once down Ray's back--as much of a caress as he dared in public. "These choices are very rarely ours to make, Ray."

"Sure." Ray leaned into Fraser's touch and rubbed at his forehead. "Seems like it should be, though. Let's go find Vecchio so we can get out of here."

Fraser scanned the crowd, searching for Ray Vecchio and for Diefenbaker, who, he feared, was up to no good. Ordinarily he would listen for Ray's distinctive voice, but his ears were misled by the din. He looked, but his eyes were quite disoriented among the crowd.

It was his secret shame--Fraser's eyes were failing under the weight of age and use. A recent exam had revealed that they were only 20/20 as opposed to 20/10 when he first joined the force. The doctor told him that it wasn't a significant drop, but Fraser knew the truth. Fraser knew it was the beginning of the end for his effectiveness as a field officer; he would have to take a desk job where his senses were not so vital.

Ray laughed when Fraser told him that. Ray told him not to be a "drama queen" and invited him to look through his glasses. True, Ray's eyes were far from perfect--some might call them appalling--but Ray's imperfect eyesight did not detract from his pursuit of the truth. He was backed by a team of professionals who gathered facts for him. He needed only his quick wits and his reason beyond that. Ray could afford to be fallible.

Fraser's eyesight was the start of a slippery slope. When on patrol in his territory, he was alone in the wilderness without backup, without other resources. As his senses became imperfect, his command of the facts would be lessened and his deductions would be flawed. Flawed deduction led to flawed casework and the faulty carriage of justice and the law--and that could not be tolerated from Robert Fraser's son.

_He_ could not tolerate it. It was unthinkable. He should stay in Chicago and fill out forms and attend diplomatic functions. He was most unbearably selfish in wanting to return to the north. Selfish and perhaps impossible, and yet the yearning was so terribly strong...and Ray seemed to share it. He had expressed a good measure of enthusiasm when Fraser mentioned returning to the Territories. Perhaps it was possible if he wasn't alone--

"Fraser." Ray was facing him, touching his shoulder. "What's going on? You look like somebody kicked you in the head."

"I was--lost in thought." He cleared his throat and pushed such-self indulgent thoughts aside. "Have you seen Diefenbaker? You know how prone to misbehavior he is under the influence of refined sugar."

"No, but I bet I know where he is. Ma Vecchio is over there. You know he always thinks of her first when he's hunting for treats." Ray pointed and set off again. Fraser followed, admiring the swift flow of Ray's deductive mind.

* * *

Fraser leaned over and kissed Ma Vecchio's cheek. He said something in Italian and Ma put her hand over her mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl.

Ray looked behind couches and chairs for Dief. Little kids freaked him out, so he usually hid, but he wouldn't be far from Ma and Maria. He peeked under the white tablecloth of one of the food tables and found Dief looking comatose, with Ante curled up against his back. "Hey, buddy."

Dief didn't respond. Ray reached down and shook his paw. "Come on, buddy."

Dief opened one eye and wagged his tail.

"Sugar crash, huh?"

Dief licked his nose and blinked.

Fraser knelt beside Ray. "Oh, dear. Dief, what have you been up to?"

Dief grumbled a little.

"Knocked her _down?_ What sort of image of Canada do you think you're projecting with such unruly behavior?"

Dief growled.

"Well, I expect you to think about your actions. Now, we'll be going home soon, so you stay here."

Dief humphed and closed his eyes. Fraser stood up, shaking his head.

* * *

He was dreaming...he must be dreaming, he was walking in leaps and bounds, chasing Frank, his partner.... Frank, striding up the thousand thousand stairs to the squad room with his coat flapping behind him like a superhero's cape. Frank, never looking back.

He ran as fast as he could but he was still three steps behind, and then they turned and they were in the squad room and there was a gun! criminal! gun! and he ducked down with Frank, and Lieutenant Giardello was there with his gun drawn--oh God, it was the shootout again--not again--

Again he drew his gun too late as Gee was shot! and Frank was shot! and he was shot! and their brains splattered and the room swam in blood--

Bayliss woke up clutching the pillow.

Same old nightmares. Same ones he'd been having for years. Frank's not dead, he told his subconscious. I'm not dead. Gee is dead, but not from the shootout. None of us were shot in the shootout. Why do you keep dreaming about the shootout when you don't even dream it right, Timmy my boy?

Bayliss thought about Frank Pembleton for a moment, but only a very brief one. He couldn't let himself think about Frank for too long.

Love...sucked. Especially when the object was married and straight.

Bayliss opened his eyes and found, much to his surprise, that the room was no longer spinning. He must have fallen asleep long enough to metabolize.

The pressure on his chest was Spot, tail tucked around her feet, purring. His arms were folded over his chest, warming against the chill of the overzealous central AC. He raised one hand and Spot rubbed her head against it.

"You still love me?" he asked.

She purred.

"Of course you do."

She butted his hand again and he rubbed behind her ears.

"You know, when Fraser talks to his dog, the dog talks back. You ever try that?"

She rubbed her cheek against the back of his hand.

"I could trade you in for a wolf, but it would probably just shed on me," Bayliss said, looking at the ceiling. A spider walked across it.

Spot still purred.

* * *

Vecchio waved them over to where he and Stella were hanging out. "Hey, where'd you go? We were looking all over for you."

"We escorted Detective Bayliss home," Fraser said. "He was indisposed."

"He can't hold his champagne," Ray said. He stuck his hands in his pockets, wanting to go home.

Vecchio shrugged. "The photographer wanted another shot with you in it, Benny."

"Oh, dear." Fraser ran his hands through his hair. "I'm afraid I'm no longer presentable." Vecchio reached over and straightened his tie.

Ray and Stella looked at each other. Ray felt strange, kind of wistful and kind of--relieved. Things were really over now; they both had someone else. No more of that maybe time.

"So--" Ray said.

"So--" Stella said at the same time.

Ray looked down. "You go first."

"I decided not to change my professional name," Stella said. "It's awkward to change when I already have a reputation built up."

Ray nodded. Fraser looked concerned. "Forgive me, but--it seems rather untoward to keep Ray's name when you've married Ray." He tugged on his ear, looking uncomfortable.

Vecchio looked at Stella. Stella looked at Ray and Vecchio in turn. "I didn't change my name when I married Ray," she said. "Kowalski is my maiden name."

Stanley Kowalski. Stella Kowalski. It had been cute at the time. "It's how we met," Ray said.

"In alphabetical order," Stella finished with a smile.

Fraser looked like he'd been hit by the dumb stick. "I see."

"We're not related, at least not that we could find. It's a common name," Stella said.

"I see." Fraser still looked spooked.

The DJ fired up a song with some swing--Sinatra, maybe. It reminded Ray that he still hadn't danced at the party. He sneaked a glance at Stella and found that she was looking at him.

"One more for old times?" she said, and she held out her hand. Ray looked at Vecchio and Vecchio waved them on, so Ray took Stella's hand and led her out onto the dance floor.

It was different, it really was. She looked great in her cream-colored suit--much better than the usual fluffy wedding stuff--but he was looking at her like her friend, not like her guy. She wore a little pillbox hat and a corsage of white roses and baby's breath. Real roses. He could smell their perfume.

"Do you dance with Fraser?" Stella asked.

"Yeah." Ray smiled. "He's no hepcat but he's not half bad once you get him out of the uniform."

"I'm glad you found someone," Stella said.

Ray nodded. "Me too," he said, very quietly.

"Although I didn't expect it to be him." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she looked up at him through her lashes.

Ray grinned. "Ditto on that one." Stella and Vecchio....

"I'm glad you can dance with him."

"I'm glad he can give you real roses." And Ray spun her, and Stella laughed, and he escorted her back to her husband.

They'd had silk roses at their wedding and lasted seventeen years anyway. Vecchio could give her real roses; who knew how long they'd last?

Okay, so it was a dumb measure, but he still felt good. Even when he watched Stella kiss Vecchio, he still felt good.

* * *

Francesca and Elaine watched Ray and Stella dance. "Cute couple," Elaine said.

"Well, they _were._ Stella and my brother look pretty good too, and they're actually now married and all." Frannie elbowed Elaine.

Elaine elbowed back. "I know, I'm just saying. They would have had cute kids."

"Blond, very blond." Frannie looked at Elaine. "Are you thinking about kids?"

"Maybe. I don't know." She laughed. "I wouldn't want them to be blond."

"Ray is taken anyway," Frannie said, touching her nose and looking at Fraser, who was standing next to Ray Vecchio.

Elaine folded her arms. "I'm trying to picture the love child of Ray Kowalski and Benton Fraser." Her brow furrowed and her head tilted forward as she concentrated. "I keep coming up with a dark-haired spiky-headed kid with glasses who uses big words while bouncing off the walls."

Elaine looked at Frannie. Frannie looked at Elaine. They both cracked up. "Oh, my God," Frannie said, one hand on her belly.

"You said it." Elaine slung one arm around Frannie's shoulders. "So..."

"What?"

"Whose is it? Ray's or Fraser's?"

"What do you--" Frannie's eyes widened. "The _baby?_ You think it's _theirs?_"

"Well--"

"No!" Frannie cracked up again. "No! No way! They're just helping me out. They're going to be _Uncle_ Benny and _Uncle_ Ray, not _Daddy._ No way."

"So _who?_" Elaine pressed her forehead to Frannie's.

Frannie pressed in closer. "Wild horses couldn't drag it out of me."

"After all this bonding?" Elaine let go and turned her back. "I hate you."

"You can hate me till the goats phone home and I still won't tell you."

* * *

Bayliss' cell phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket, praying that it wasn't work. "Bayliss."

"Bayliss! It's Mike Giardello."

"Hey...what's up?" Bayliss dislodged Spot and sat up, rubbing his forehead.

"I was hoping to run into you at the reception--I thought I'd buy you a beer or something, Mike said. "You found my father's murderer. That makes you family, like it or not."

"Oh..." Gee had been gunned down while he was running for mayor. It was one case Bayliss had never wanted to work. "I was at the reception for a little while, but I had to split. Are you related to Vecchio?"

"His mom and my mom are cousins, which I guess makes us second cousins. They were pretty close before Mom died. We visited a lot. I missed his first wedding, so I figured I had better make the second--got to represent my side of the family, you know?"

Bayliss had never been to the wedding of any of his family members. He couldn't actually remember the last time he talked to them. "Sure."

"So...how do you like Chicago?"

"It's working out. The job is the job pretty much anywhere, but the, uh, the memories are different. I don't have to walk around thinking 'that's the place where Jenkins was shot' or 'there's the restaurant where we found the guy with no head.' After almost eight years that builds up."

"So this is...tabula rasa."

"Yeah." Bayliss rolled his head and cracked his neck. "So are you still a uniform?"

"Sure am. I probably won't make detective for a while."

"That doesn't bother you after being FBI?"

"Actually, it's great. I'm getting in touch with my roots. With the community, you know?"

"You know all the drug dealers by name," Bayliss said.

"El Lobo, Mario and Mac. Run them in every month like clockwork." Mike laughed. "Anyway, I have to go. I need to catch a plane. Come by next time you're in Baltimore and I'll buy you that beer."

"I will," Bayliss said, and Mike hung up.

Bayliss folded his phone and pressed his forehead to his knees. His head was starting to hurt. He had no intention of going back to Baltimore ever again. Not because of the work; not because of Gee's murder. Because of Luke Ryland.

Bayliss straightened up and got out of bed. He headed for the kitchen to make a nice soothing cup of green tea.

* * *

"Got something to tell you, Benny, since it's starting to look official now." Ray grasped Fraser's shoulder and pulled him into a more private corner of the room.

Ferns surrounded them, providing a cool green shade against the bright noise of the reception. "What is it, Ray?"

"It looks like we're moving to Florida. Not right away, not while Ma is still sick, but we're going. Stella got an offer she can't say no to--District Attorney, not just an assistant. Big promotion."

"That's wonderful, Ray." Fraser offered his hand and Ray shook it.

"Yeah, I thought so. It means a lot to Stella. And I have family down there so it's not a big deal for me." Ray looked down at his hands.

Fresh scars still showed pink against Ray's knuckles, relics of his time undercover. "And it's a fresh start," Fraser said.

Ray looked up with a flash of hunted animal spirit dancing in his eyes. "Yeah, Benny. A fresh start."

Fraser folded his own hands in his lap. "I have a confession as well, Ray." He cleared his throat. "Ray and I are looking for a means to return home--that is, to return north."

"I guess north is home for both of you now, huh?"

Fraser thought of Ray, shirtless and covered in goosebumps and sweat, splitting and stacking firewood on a chilly June evening at their cabin. The sun was still high but the wind was pleasantly brisk, and he remembered Ray's words--"I love your summers, Fraser"--whispered against his skin just before Ray had kissed him. He remembered the scent of sweat and sap and earth--

Fraser recollected himself. "I believe Ray feels at home in the north, yes." And perhaps it was selfish and wrong of him, but Lord, he felt pleasure at that fact.

"I guess somebody has to. Give me Florida any day." Ray clapped a hand onto Fraser's shoulder and gestured with the other as they walked back toward the dance floor. "Sun, sand and ocean as far as the eye can see..."

"And hurricanes, Ray."

Ray poked a finger into Fraser's chest. "You, Fraser, are a gloomy Gus."

"Proper preparation prevents drowning in a high gale."

* * *

Spot's bowl was empty, so he refilled it and her water bowl. She hopped up on the counter and batted at the drawer with the Pounce treats. Bayliss sighed and got them out.

"It's simple, huh," he said, giving her a treat. She took it from his hand and hopped off the counter. "You want something that directly benefits you, like food or water or catnip, and I either give them to you or I don't."

Bayliss looked into the sink and wondered when he'd done the dishes. Strange. He sat down and watched Spot lick her teeth and muzzle clean. "If you do something that human morality considers wrong, it has no direct bearing on you, since you have no understanding of human morality and reason."

Spot suddenly ran into the living room and dived under the couch. Bayliss followed, picking up his laptop from the coffee table and curling up on the couch. He opened up his local copy of [www.inplainsite.com](http://www.inplainsite.com), his page on Buddhism and alternate sexuality in police work. None of it seemed relevant at the moment. Besides that, he was still tipsy so the colors made his head swim. He shut it down again.

"It doesn't bother you that I'm vegetarian and you're the meat-eating terror that your ancestors made you," he said to Spot. "It doesn't bother you that a cow died for your dinner." He tried to remember what flavor of treats he had gotten. "Or maybe a chicken. Whatever. All the same to you."

Spot raced out from under the couch and tripped over her own feet, sprawling into the middle of the room. She picked herself up and shook herself off and started licking her paws serenely. "Cats have the Zen nature," Bayliss said. "Everything happens by design."

Spot turned and walked toward the couch, hopping up to lay on his shins. She purred and he felt it in his bones. "I don't even know what I'm saying any more," he told Spot. "Do you know?"

She regarded him with slitted yellow eyes.

"No, me neither."

He was unsettled down to the core of his being. He couldn't meditate or masturbate or work or blow it away; the bare fact was still there.

He had stalked Luke Ryland through the streets of Baltimore. He had shot him down like the rabid dog he was. Ryland was a serial killer who had been released on the shoddiest of technicalities, he had killed two women in cold blood and promised to kill more, he was worse than an animal, he _had_ to die--but the naked truth remained: Bayliss had committed murder and gone unpunished.

"I'm a criminal," he whispered.

Spot purred and kneaded his leg.

* * *

Dief's pack was making leaving motions, which meant that Dief would have to walk home if he stayed longer than they did. Feh. He'd had enough of that in the woods with Fraser.

He licked Ante goodbye and she yapped and kissed his cheek. Frannie picked Ante up. Dief moaned sadly.

Ray knelt down and rubbed Dief's ear, which was nice but didn't make him feel any better. Dief barked another goodbye to Ante. Ante stood up on Frannie's shoulder and yapped back at him until she and Frannie were lost in the crowd.

Dief looked up at Ray mournfully. Ray patted him.

* * *

Ray hummed the wedding march as he shaved before bed. He didn't normally shave before bed, but then he didn't normally get married either.

He was dog tired. Stella was absolutely brilliant for insisting on a hotel room for their wedding night. No cleaning, no mess, none of the visitors knew what hotel it was. In the morning they could order room service instead of cooking. And the water pressure was a lot better than in the apartment they were sub-leasing until the move.

And _God_ but he was nervous. His hand was shaking enough that--crap!--he cut himself.

He'd been a terrible husband before, starting with the apartment he'd refused to move into and ending with the Riv that Angie hated. Now, after everything he'd been through, he thought he could do this right?

He wasn't humming any more. He was looking at himself in the mirror, half his face covered in shaving cream and the other half dotted with an expanding bead of bright red blood.

There was plenty of blood around the Bookman and plenty of the Bookman in him--enough that the hard guys were still shaking in their boots after he'd been undercover for a year. He hadn't known that when he went in. Funny all the things you don't know abut yourself.

He'd spent the past year remembering how to be Ray Vecchio again. He did his job, he ran around with Fraser, he got a new Riv to replace the one Kowalski toasted. He found a beautiful, intelligent, ambitious woman and flirted with her until somehow they wound up married. And that was Ray Vecchio, the Ray Vecchio he wanted to be.

That was the Ray Vecchio he was going to be.

He was looking at Ray Vecchio. The new, improved Ray Vecchio.

The new, improved Ray Vecchio would be a good husband. The new, improved Ray Vecchio was already a good cop. The new, improved Ray Vecchio was an all-around great guy, married to an all-around great woman.

And--hell. Stella had been married to that schmuck Kowalski for seventeen years. If _Stanley_ could keep her happy that long, then Ray sure as hell could.

Nothing built confidence like a low bar. Ray let out a sigh and finished shaving with a steady hand. The cut stung a little when he wiped it clean, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

* * *

"I tried confession and Frank wouldn't absolve me," Bayliss whispered to Spot. "I tried it again and Gharty wouldn't arrest me. I tried atonement, but how do you atone? I tried running away and I ended up right here with you."

Spot purred. He rubbed behind her ears.

"I could kill myself but I'd just become a ghost." He believed in ghosts. He was sure he had seen them. "I could--punish myself--but when is it enough?"

He picked Spot up and walked over to the window. Night had fallen, and the glass reflected his ghost-self, tall and pale and clutching the serene ghost of a cat. He touched the glass and his ghost-self touched back, cool and smooth.

"What do I do now?" he asked his ghost-self. He suddenly realized he was swaying--he lost his balance and toppled forward, catching himself against the window. Spot, indignant at being dropped, disappeared into the bedroom.

Bayliss looked for answers among the buildings, lights and stars outside, but all he found was the rising patch of steam on the glass from his breath.

* * *

Home again. Fraser was reading Nabokov's Speak, Memory on the couch, dressed in blue jeans and a black t-shirt and bare feet, which drove Ray absolutely nuts. Something about little bare piggy toes turned him into a wolf.

Dief lay under the coffee table groaning. Too much wedding cake. They would have to leave the fire escape window open that night, in case Dief had to make a hasty exit.

Ray was dancing in the middle of the living room, solo, wearing only his boxer shorts. He was pretty sure he'd caught Fraser peeking a few times.

"Ray."

"Yeah?" Ray shifted into a basic box step, an invitation for Fraser to join him. Fraser did best at dances with steps.

Sure enough, Fraser got up and slid into place in front of him. Ray danced him backwards for a few steps, then switched hand placement and let Fraser lead.

"Have you given any further thought to a career in the Northwest Territories?" That again. Fraser was hell-bent on Ray figuring everything out beforehand.

"I can do lots of stuff, Fraser. Fix snowmobiles. Fly planes. Give dance lessons to foxy Inuit chicks." Ray grinned and shook his hips, but Fraser didn't crack a smile.

"I'm quite serious, Ray. And none of those are at all like police work."

"So? I'd be liaising with you." Ray switched again and took the lead. "And I never thought being a cop was a forever thing. I love it, don't get me wrong, but I feel okay about a change."

"I can't imagine that," Fraser said. "I'll be a Mountie until the day I die."

"I know, Fraser. But that's you. That's not me." He stopped to cup his hands around Fraser's face. "Hey, I'm getting low on air. Fill me up."

Fraser's lips covered his and Fraser blew air into his lungs with a kiss.

* * *

Frannie walked through the house checking the locks and windows, her normal routine before bed. It was way, way past her bedtime, but it had taken forever to get all the visitors settled after the big day.

Everything looked secure. She stopped by Ma's room to see if she needed anything--she was mostly bedridden now--and found that her lamp was still on. Frannie peeked into the room. "Ma?"

"Francesca. Come here."

Frannie came in and perched on the edge of the bed. "Ma? Can I get you something?"

"No." She took Frannie's hand and pressed it between hers. "Francesca, it's clear to the world that you're carrying a child."

Frannie dropped her head and nodded.

"And you're unmarried."

"He'll take care of the baby, Ma."

"But he won't marry you?"

She hesitated--she didn't know how much to say. "He asked, Ma. He's just--away right now, and he won't be back for a while." He'd asked, but she didn't know if she would say yes or not. She'd been through that once already. She didn't know if she could do it again.

"I want you to be settled. I want you to have a good life, Francesca."

"It'll be okay whether we get married or not. I promise, Ma."

Her mother closed her eyes. "At least tell me his name."

She hesitated. "Don't tell Ray? I want to tell him myself."

"I must know for my prayers. I won't tell your brother."

Frannie couldn't hold out. She whispered his name into her mother's ear. Then she went to bed and whispered his name to God in her prayers.

She would have a baby--she would be a mother. She thought that--she hoped that--she _knew_ that she could handle it. Still, she whispered her prayers to God.

END.


End file.
